


Simple Needs

by OnlyFoxMulder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, MSR, Post-Episode: s07e07 Orison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 07:04:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20421911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyFoxMulder/pseuds/OnlyFoxMulder
Summary: The ending of Orison begged for a follow-up scene. Here’s my interpretation.





	Simple Needs

**Author's Note:**

> Another story I wrote in a few hours off and on one day. It’s how I would have liked to see this one extended since I wasn’t a big fan of the episode as a whole. Just some mindless fluff, light angst, vulnerable Scully and sleepy Mulder. That’s all. 
> 
> No beta, as usual, so take it or leave it! I try my best.

His bed was heavenly. She was lost in a sea of plush pillows and soft cotton sheets, unable to escape the warmth she felt in his space. The boxes of magazines, books, and knickknacks cluttering the room were cleaned and organized, leaving a cozy and intimate bedroom in its wake. Best of all, the sheets carried his scent. She was surrounded by that spicy Mulder fragrance she had grown to crave like an addictive cigarette, only healthier for the lungs. 

She rolled over, pressing her cheek into his pillow and taking a deep inhale. She smiled despite the pain in her back and the numb feeling in her heart. Cocooned in his sacred space, she could momentarily trick her brain into erasing the events of the day: she was choked, manhandled, thrown against a mirror and the icing on the shit cake, she killed a man. 

After Mulder helped her pack a few things, eased her inside his personal sedan, and silently drove them back to his apartment, she dropped her bag on the floor and winced. She prayed he wouldn’t notice but her hope was dashed when he returned to her side and wordlessly removed the light jacket she wore over torn pajamas. She refused medical attention and couldn’t be bothered to change. The only thing she wanted at the time was out of her bedroom.

Blood eventually soaked through the silk, the extent of her injuries now evident to her concerned partner. He traced the red stains with his fingertips and hissed through his teeth. Despite her desperate attempts to assure him, he carefully lifted the cloth from her back and audibly gasped at the bruises and scrapes marking the skin.  _ Jesus, Scully, why didn’t you tell me how badly he hurt you?  _ He had uttered the words with a hint of anger in his voice, betraying his calm exterior. Offering a shrug, she had no energy left in her to fight off his help. 

The nod of her head gave him the okay he needed to lead her to his bathroom and clean her wounds. He removed her soiled clothing with trembling fingers, spun her around to protect her modesty when her bare chest was exposed, and patched her up to the best of his ability. 

Hours later, the physical wounds still stung, almost as harshly as her heart. The loneliness was unrelenting and she wished for the strength to ask for something she needed: his presence. Not just his essence left behind… she craved his physical body wrapped around her own. Only then would she feel safe and protected enough to drift into a dreamless and restful sleep. 

The flickering light and hushed murmurs filtering through the open doorway reminded her of the man in question. The man she could picture curled up under the worn blanket he kept close by for sleepless nights—she knew he made a habit of knocking out on his couch rather than his bed. 

With an exaggerated sigh, she surrendered to her inner desires, tossing the bedding aside and fixing her pajamas. Mulder had graciously offered her one of his shirts to wear earlier in the evening.  _ It won’t rub against your cuts… it’s big and you’ll be more comfortable.  _ She didn’t argue. The shirt hung loosely along her body, stopping above her knees. It swallowed her whole. 

The dim glow from the full moon shone through the blinds, illuminating her path to Mulder. He was out cold. Her earlier assumption was right; he was slumped against the armrest in what she could only assume was uncomfortable for his six foot frame, with the blanket tossed carelessly over his legs. She noticed the shirt he changed into was tossed to the side, bare torso catching her off guard. He had such an inviting chest. The few times she was awarded the luxury of snuggling into his arms, she couldn’t resist the urge to rest her cheek against those firm muscles.

Willing those thoughts away, her exploration stopped on his handsome face, peaceful and relaxed. Despite her trauma, the smile she tried to suppress escaped as she knelt down beside the couch. Her fingers twitched, longing to reach out and touch his strong jaw. The rough stubble darkening his face was calling out to her and it was becoming difficult to resist.

“Scully?” The introduction of his deep, sleep-drunk baritone into the quiet of the room made her jump and almost topple over from her crouched position. 

Hand to her heart, she said, “God, Mulder… you scared me half to death.”

“You’re the one watching me sleep,” he quipped, a drowsy smile transforming his features. He had such a beautiful smile.

She smiled too, but it faded as pain shot through her lower back—a stark reminder of her injuries. And why she was seeking comfort.

He sensed the change in mood, shifting himself up on an elbow. “Is everything okay, Scully? Do you need anything? A drink of water or some more medicine?”

“I’m f-fine,” she stumbled, ducking shyly and focusing on the floor below. It was his tone… so loving and caring, it broke something within her. 

“Hey…,” he whispered, fingers brushing the underside of her chin. The soft touch was a shock to her vulnerable system and the concern etched into the lines of his forehead caused a lump to form in her throat. 

His eyes. How she could get lost in those green-gray-hazel eyes that seemed to morph with the slightest shift in emotion. They told her everything would be okay, that she was loved and could count on him for anything in the world—all without uttering a syllable. 

Minutes passed. No words. No movement. She failed to answer his earlier question, but offered another weak smile in assurance. It was met by another touch; this time the bruising on her neck. The tips of his fingers lingered on the marks, earning him a small gasp of surprise. The skin was tender and raw from Pfaster’s grip, a sharp contrast from the delicate caress she was receiving now. 

“I’m sorry, Scully.”

She shook her head vehemently. “It’s not your fault.”

“I should have known… been there sooner.” His hand dropped. She missed the slight contact instantly.

“It’s over. I don’t need a hero, Mulder. I only need… all I need is…,” she trailed off, losing the confidence she found in his bedroom. Now faced with the prospect of speaking those internal thoughts aloud, she wanted to run and hide.

“Is…? What?” He breathed. 

“You,” she stated clearly, shocking herself with the honesty. “Just you.”

“I’m here, Scully. I’m always here. All you have to do is ask,” he suggested, like it was the easiest thing in the universe. She wasn’t accustomed to asking for protection, especially from men… and especially from Mulder.

Without a sound, she stood on shaky legs and beckoned him with a simple hand stretched towards him in silent invitation. The split second hesitation in his eyes threatened her newfound courage but he quickly recovered, accepting the offer and clasping her hand.

************

The significance of her actions tonight loomed over her like the threat of a thunderstorm. The earlier sanctuary of his bedroom filled with tension so thick she could feel the electricity surrounding them. It was suffocating. 

Luckily, she had Mulder. Always Mulder. Her North Star, her light in the darkness and man who knew her so well, he immediately sensed her apprehension. 

“It’s just me, Scully…,” he started, hand exploring the length of her bicep. “I can go back into the living room if-” 

“I want you here.” 

Now it was he who led her to the bed, pulling back the covers and encouraging her to climb inside. The sheets were cool to the touch, making her shiver as she slid her legs under the covers. Mulder allowed her some time to adjust, simply watching her arrange pillows to her liking with an amused look on his face. He briefly hesitated but crawled in beside her, still reluctant to make a bold move without verbal confirmation. 

Instead, she closed the space between them and trailed the pad of her thumb along his lush lower lip. The vivid memory of the last time she was granted this luxury clouded her focus: his doorway, his baseball hat, the glimmer in his eye when he called her his touchstone… his constant. The switch in their relationship began with his declaration and only continued to evolve with each passing day. Their connection was defined by small, seemingly insignificant moments: passing touches, longful gazes, fleeting forehead and cheek kisses, and intimate hugs, coming together to form the impenetrable bond they shared. Tonight was yet another addition to the growing collection.

She kissed him then. Her lack of willpower and diminished ability to think clearly drawing her close. It was slow and gentle, just the slightest bit deeper than their sweet peck on New Years. His breath hitched as she tilted her head to the side and guided his lips open, intensifying the kiss. She had no intention of taking this any further than this tonight—it wasn’t the right time.  _ Soon,  _ she promised to herself. Soon.

Overcome with sudden guilt, she broke their liplock, hoping he would understand. “I’m sorry. I-”

“Shhh, don’t apologize,” he mumbled, eyes mesmerized by her mouth. 

“I don’t regret it… I wanted it,” she began, pausing to take a lungful of air. “It's just… it’s not what I need right now.”

Before he could reply, she tucked her head under his chin, cheek burrowing into his chest. Her favorite place. The magical combination of his heartbeat and warmth from his skin had the power to soothe her weathered soul. 

Mulder read her signal, carefully avoiding any sore spots as he locked his arms around her, one palm at the small of her back—another comfort she grew to appreciate during their years together. Any lingering tension in her muscles evaporated; she was finally able to close her eyes without ghosts from the past preventing her from slumber.

She knew her actions would come back to haunt her in the harsh light of day but the unknowns of tomorrow seemed trivial in the protective arms of her partner. For now, everything was okay. Mulder would be there for her in the morning and if Scully had her way, each morning to come.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! xx


End file.
